


The Reaper in the Cemetery

by Littlehouse



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Tyler is Tyler but also Blurryface at some points
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4886860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlehouse/pseuds/Littlehouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Reaper dances in the cemetery late at night. Josh Dun tries to bring him back to life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea sprung into my head the other day and I couldn't get it out of my mind. I just want to warn for profanity, so far that's the only reason for the teen rating. This story is going to be darker than TTSU, for those of you familiar with that story (which will hopefully be updated tuesday). The prologue is very short, but the first chapter is very long so please stick with it!
> 
> Also, I will probably be renaming this story as soon as I think of a better title. I'm not happy with this one. Please enjoy!

He danced, jumping, twirling from stone to stone. A dance with no rhythm, no beat, no sense. 

That was how he wanted it. 

That was how _he_ wanted it. 

A dance with no objective, other than to revel in the past and ignore the present, ignore the future, ignore his mistakes and ugly thoughts and appearance. He stepped daintily onto another headstone, with arms outstretched. This one was older and thinner, so he needed to keep his balance. His toe pointed prettily enough, but his beat up sneakers made the movement awkward and ugly. For a moment he considered taking off his shoes. 

Stupid, he thought. Stupid. You could catch a cold. Catch a cold, you can’t dance at all. You’ll be confined to your room. No good. 

He stepped to another headstone, this one much wider, and stood astride. He put his hands on his hips and observed the graveyard quietly. It appeared all was quiet and well. Good. Graveyards are for the resting. For the weary. For quiet.

Except for his dancing (which could hardly be considered loud or boisterous, and not disturbing to those souls six feet below), nothing moved. Not a leaf in the wind, not a cricket chirping. Was it too cold for crickets this time of year? Maybe he could find out. They screamed during summer. 

He zipped his hoodie tighter over his head, and peered around. It was a good night. The dance would be good tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh squinted at the ground and stared, confused, at a pair of worn sneakers lying in the leaves.

“Hey, psst. Josh.” 

Josh looked up from his chemistry work and squinted at Brendon. He glanced up to make sure their teacher wasn’t paying attention and mouthed ‘what’ at him. Brendon grinned and tossed a crumpled ball at him. Josh caught it one handed and unraveled it, thinking something along the lines of ‘why don’t you text me this isn’t middle school.’ 

_Are we still on for Pete’s house tonight?_

Josh rolled his eyes and scribbled back _yes, talk more at lunch_ before tossing it back to Brendon quickly. Pete had invited them and a few other kids over that night because his parents were out of town (whose parents left on a Thursday? More evidence to his theory that Pete was a wizard living alone for thousands of years), and they would all drink gross beer and listen to dumb music by local bands and probably skip school tomorrow. October was a pointless school month, anyways. 

Josh pursed his lips trying to finish a particularly difficult equation. Fuck chemistry – how long until lunch? 

 

 

“So, Pete told me in second period he had a cool idea.” Brendon said, chewing his sandwich, “And I know you like cool ideas, so, I’m gonna tell you.” Josh sighed as he picked up another chicken nugget and listened to Brendan speak. “He said we should all drink a ton of beer and the go to Forest Heights.”

Josh stopped mid chew and looked at Brendon incredulously. 

“Forest Heights?” He repeated. Brendon nodded slowly, smirking.

“Forest Heights.”

“Like. Forest Heights Cemetery.” Brendon nodded again, smirk spreading into a grin. “Yeah. No, thanks. Count me out.” 

“What?” Brendon frowned, slamming his sandwich onto his tray. “Why not? We’re gonna investigate! It’ll be like drunk ghost hunters!”

“First of all,” Josh countered, “ghost hunters is fucking stupid. Second of all, why would I want to investigate a cemetery drunk? There’s no reason. I don’t wanna fall into an open grave, or run into…”

“The Reaper.” Brendon teased, wiggling his fingers in an attempt to be spooky. “Jim Graham said he saw him the other night, jumping on graves again.” Josh sipped on his juice, ignoring Brendon. 

“It’s just some kid, Brendon. He sounds nuts, though, and I don’t want to run into him if I don’t have to.” Josh bit into another chicken nugget. “He could probably kill someone.” Brendon rolled his eyes and lifted his sandwich again. 

“Quit being such a baby. It’ll be no big deal. ‘Drunk Ghost Hunters’ is gonna be our new crew name, and you’ll be sorry you didn’t go.”

Josh wasn’t so sure he would be as he stood from the table, taking his tray with him.

 

 

Full Moon. Good. That would make the dance better. Maybe the best yet? Summer full moons were hot and sticky, but Autumn full moons could be nice. Cool. Make him think about his flesh more realistically as his bones rattled from the cold. He zipped up his hoodie, over his head, and looked down at his shoes. The dance must be perfect.

He tilted his head to the side, and then toed off his sneakers.

 

 

Josh really hated his friends. 

He was being dragged off to Forest Heights Cemetery by his drunk companions (he was demoting the title of friendship). All the windows of the car were down, and Pete didn’t know any other way to drive than ten miles over the speed limit at all times. Especially at midnight, with his shitty basement band music blaring on the speakers. Pete, Brendon, and Mark were having a great time screaming to the music and yelling at passing by cars. Josh was sure he would be, too, if not for their destination. 

Forest Heights was fine in the day time. At night? No, thank you.

Recently, frequenters of the cemetery have been spotting someone (or something, Josh swore it was an angry ghost). It started back in May, when seniors started dicking around the place per tradition of the graduating class. They saw someone lurking around, jumping around the graves. They said it was a person, dressed in all black, except for the hoodie which reached over their head and down their face. They said they hollered and jeered at them, telling them the cemetery was their turf that night. The person turned and left, supposedly. 

Later on they would be chased out, screaming, to a car with deflated tires. 

Nobody ever learned what really happened that night. The rest of the summer, though, brought in dozens of different stories. Different people claimed different things, as is the case with every strange event. Some people claimed it was a homeless man, creeping around and just trying to scare kids. Some people said that it was someone recreating an urban legend from when the previous generation was kids. A kid who got ahold of a skeleton hoodie at a second hand store, out to have some summer fun by scaring kids. 

Others said it wasn’t a person at all; it was an angry demon or ghost of some sort. Josh was more inclined to side with them, as silly as it might seem, for various reasons and accounts. People described the person as… inhuman, with their movements. One minute they were fluid and smooth, almost graceful he heard one person say. And then the next minute they were mechanical, stiff. It sounded terrifying, honestly, and Josh wanted no parts of it.

Telling his boisterous friends that was impossible, though. They disregarded his feelings and dragged him along to the cemetery, anyways. Not that surprising. 

Everyone in the car fell silent as they approached the winding road leading to the entrance. Pete reached over and turned down the volume on the stereo and Brendon whistled lowly. Josh pressed his forehead against the cold window, hoping it would help calm the anxiety bubbling in his chest. 

“I guess I should park up top?” Pete mused, letting the car creep up the road. Brendon nodded and peeked into the back seats. 

“That way we can make a quick escape in case the boogeyman shows up.” He and Mark burst into giggles, Pete holding his hand up for a high five. Josh ignored them, closing his eyes.

“Fuck you guys. It’s The Reaper, anyways. Don’t disrespect him – he’ll know.” 

“Oh come on, Josh. You know it’s just some dumb kid.” Mark chided. He shrugged as Josh glared at him, unbuckling his seatbelt as Pete put the car into park. 

“It’s not some dumb kid. It’s a dangerous person.” Josh sighed, unbuckling his own belt and staring at the cemetery with dread. “Seriously, remember how those kid’s tires were slashed? We could be slashed. It’s very likely.”

“Come on, Josh. Into the cemetery.” Pete opened up the trunk of his car and pulled out a six pack of beer, Brendon and Mark cheering, and herded them into the cemetery.

Josh lagged behind the boys as they all cracked open their cans, zipping his hoodie up to his neck and pulling the hood over his head. October days weren’t bad, really – mild, if anything. The nights were freezing, though, reminders of harsh winter coming soon. He shivered and shoved his hands into his pockets, begrudgingly following his companions-that-were-still-not-friends. 

The full moon did little to illuminate the spacious grave yard, tall and gnarled tree branches with dead leaves preventing the beams from lighting the ground well. There were no street lamps to add any light, and Josh stepped carefully to avoid any jutting headstones or branches that could trip him. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as the distinct feeling of being watched crept up his spine.

“Come on, Josh!” Pete called, “Keep up!” Josh let out an irritated huff and jogged to catch up with his friends. He tripped, however, and landed face first onto the ground. The wind was knocked out of him, and he whipped his head up in fright and looked around wildly to see if someone was there, if it was him that somehow cause him to trip. Scrambling to his feet and looking around, he saw no one, and cautiously approached where he tripped. 

He squinted at the ground and stared, confused, at a pair of worn sneakers lying in the leaves. 

 

 

An interruption.

A disturbance.

Intruders. Unwelcome visitors. Making noise, waking noise, intruding noise. 

He heard the loud, unorganized chatter and felt his bones rattle with annoyance. Who would even think to interrupt this place? Who would interrupt his dance? 

Angrily he jumped onto the stone markers, standing on tiptoe – still dancing – as he searched the grounds for the trespassers. He spotted them and shivered, curling into himself, angry that he recognized them. Surely they knew? They knew how important the dance was, how nearly sacred this event was. And they had the absolute audacity to interrupt him, interrupt the dance. 

He jumped from the headstone, bare feet padding along the cold and hard ground, dirty and scratched from sticks and rocks. He thought about how he should have removed his shoes long ago – the benefits were incredible. It made him quieter, and the steps of the dance were much more beautiful now. No clunky shoes to ruin how he moved. 

Idly, he pressed a hand to one of his favorite trees, and then leaned against it. The cold bark was hard and scratchy, but it grounded him. Made him feel better. 

He kissed the bark and then started to scale the branches, going up, going up to observe and chase out the intruders. To sound the alarm and get rid of the disturbances. The dance must go on.

 

 

“So, Mrs. Harvey basically shit her pants after I told her to eat my dick.” Pete laughed, Brendon and Mark sputtering with him. Josh sipped on his beer, not really paying attention to his friends chatter. His definition of fun was not sitting in a creepy, dark cemetery while drinking beer, already pretty tipsy, and talking about how he told his teacher to eat his dick. He kept glancing over his shoulder, trying to stay hyper aware of his surroundings in case…

He shook his head and took another sip. He wouldn’t show up – no way.

“Josh, you still with us?” Mark teased, snorting. 

“He’s looking out for the boogeyman.” Brendon mocked, bringing his hands to his face and imitating biting his nails out of fear. Pete and Mark burst into laughter and Josh glared. 

“Seriously, fuck you guys. This is why I didn’t want to come.” He threw his beer can over his shoulder and crossed his arms, turning away from his friends. 

“Lighten up, Josh. We’re just having a little fun.” Pete winked and took another sip of his beer.

“Not my kind of fun.” Josh stood and wiped his pants. “I’ll just walk home, then.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away, ignoring his friend’s protests. He hesitated to move; the cemetery was dark and intimidating, especially in the dark. He had no idea where he was going, either, he just knew he wanted to get away. 

Josh felt the hair on the back of his neck raise when he heard the rustle of leaves, and his friend’s chatter died down. There hadn’t been any wind that night – it was completely still. A cold, foreboding feeling crept up his spine, and Josh forced himself to turn around slowly. His friends looked back at him, expressions displaying their obvious alarm and fear. Josh slowly looked up into the branches of the old tree, gnarled bark and angry branches sprouting wildly every which way. In the middle of the tree, though, was _him._

He stood in the tree, bent in the branches, one hand holding a branch above him and the other hanging at his side. His head was tilted in observation and, when Josh spotted him, he could tell a malicious grin spread on his features. He couldn’t see his face, but he knew. He knew he was grinning. He scrambled backwards and fell, all the blood draining from his face as he stared at The Reaper. 

His friends followed his gaze, and when they saw the skeleton, they screamed. They propelled themselves up from the ground, discarding their cans carelessly, running and yelling in disbelief. Josh tried and failed to get his footing, pushing and dragging himself through the dead leaves and twigs on the ground. He was pretty sure his hands would be fucked up in the morning, but he didn’t care. 

The Reaper jumped down from the tree, landing with his toes pointed, and Josh noticed that his feet were bare and dirty. He remembered the shoes he tripped over earlier, and felt his fingertips go numb. There was no way…

The Reaper slowly marched to him, shoulders stiff and steps mechanical. It was remarkable how he moved – hypnotizing and disturbing at once, and Josh couldn’t look away. 

The Reaper lifted a hand, pointed at Josh, and tilted his head. 

“The dance must go on. You must leave.” He – and it was definitely a _he_ – said in a sing-song voice. “You’re disturbing the resting. The dance has to go on, uninterrupted, and you have intruded.” He spoke slowly, methodically, in such a strange tone of voice that Josh’s head swam. The Reaper bent down, on his hands and knees, and _crawled_ to Josh. He started scrambling backwards. “Leave. Leave. Leave.” 

Josh pushed himself up onto his feet in a panic and turned, sprinting into the dark. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t see a thing, and he could barely hear his friend’s voices in the distance. He heard leaves behind him, knew The Reaper was chasing him, and doubled his efforts. 

He hit a stone and tripped, falling painfully onto his hands and knees. 

He whipped around onto his back in time for The Reaper to fall on him, straddling him with hands and knees on either side of Josh. He stared at Josh, practically vibrating, and lifted one of his hands to touch his cheek. Josh was frozen, watching him with wide eyes. His hand was cold on his cheek, bitter cold, a clear indicator that he had been outside for a long time. Probably hours at this point – it was well past midnight, heading into the early hours of the morning. 

“You can’t be here.” He whispered, voice softer this time. “You can’t come. Nobody can.” 

Josh watched his lips moved, chapped and pale, barely visible beneath the hood. There were marks on them to indicate that they had been chewed on a lot, and Josh thought about how painful that might be.

The sound of Pete’s car horn blaring brought him to, and The Reaper whipped his head up in the direction it was coming from. Josh’s hand instinctively curled into a fist, and he brought it up to The Reaper’s face, sending him reeling back off of Josh. His hood was knocked up, and he scrambled away from Josh, cradling his face. Josh clumsily got to his feet, adrenaline pumping like crazy, and gave one last glance to him. 

The Reaper lifted his head up and looked at Josh, face full of fear. 

Josh couldn’t help but stare at the boy – the boy! – that laid on the ground, shaking hand cradling his jaw. His face was pale, cheeks red from the cold bitter air, and his dark hair was short and tousled from the hoodie. His eyes were dark and afraid. 

As the realization that Josh had seen his face slowly dawned on him, he quickly pushed himself up and ran off. The bottoms of his bare feet were black. Josh hesitated before turning the opposite way and running to where his friends were. He noticed the boy’s shoes were where he left them, and thought about how cold his feet probably were. 

He finally made it to the entrance of the cemetery, practically flying out of there, and threw himself into Pete’s car. His hands were shaking so bad, from lingering adrenaline and cold, that he forwent buckling his seatbelt. 

“Dude, what the _fuck ___?!” Pete yelled, flooring the car and speeding down the road as fast as he could. Mark was silent next to Josh, running his hands through his hair anxiously. Brendon shook his head, shivering in his seat.

“That was fucked up. What kind of sick mother fucker would do that?” He asked, almost angrily, hands clenching and unclenching. 

“I told you.” Josh muttered, still catching his breath. “I told you all.”

No more words were said as Pete drove back to his house. Josh’s mouth felt dry and his head hurt. He still felt the boy’s hand on his cheek. What unnerved him the most, though, wasn’t that they had run into The Reaper.

He recognized him.

He went to their school. He had classes with him. Usually, everyone ignored him, and he hung around the back of most rooms. Josh remembered seeing him on a few occasions and always feeling sorry for him, always wanting to approach him. And then his friends would come, and sweep him away, and sweep away any thoughts of the lonely boy at the back of the room. His stomach churned, knowing that he recognized the boy.

He thumped his head against the cold car window and shut his eyes.

Tyler Joseph. He would have a hard time getting him out of his head, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was extremely long so thank you to everyone who stuck with it!! I don't have the ending to this story quite formed out in my mind yet, so it might be a while before the next update. I want to finish this one before posting it. If anyone has any questions please feel free to ask and I'll answer them! Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His skin turned bright pink from the heat of the water, and he bent down to rub the dirt from the souls of his feet.

Idiot. You allowed yourself to be seen. 

That was the worst dance he had ever performed. Ever. He was so angry it shook him to the core. 

Not only was the dance interrupted, but he had been _seen._ By a boy who probably didn’t even believe in the dance! 

Idiot. Stupid idiot. Moron. How could you let this happen? 

The thoughts echoed around his head as he snuck back into his bedroom window, dirty shoes in one hand. He wanted to get into bed, but knew the dirt on his feet would give away his ritual. He cautiously opened the hallway door and tip toed to the bathroom.

Nobody understands. Nobody but you. Must never let anyone know. They would stop you. And then what?

He held a hand out to feel the scorching water as it fell from the shower head.

What indeed?

The nightly ritual, as vital to his health as he believed it to be, was starting to drain on him. Others were starting to pick up on his absence. But he needed this, needed to dance, to feel connected to _something,_ even if that something was dead in the dirt. It kept him grounded.

His skin turned bright pink from the heat of the water, and he bent down to rub the dirt from the souls of his feet.

He would have to keep going as long as he could. 

“Tyler?” 

His head shot up at his mother’s voice, and he cleared his throat.

“Yes?” His voice sounded hoarse. 

“You okay in there?” She started to open the bathroom door, and he mentally begged her to stop. 

“I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep.” His mother didn’t say anything, keeping the door half open.

“Alright. Just hurry up before you wake anyone else up.” She shut the door gently, and he turned his head back to the spray of the water. He was safe.

For now.

For how much longer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone!!! I hope nobody thinks I forgot about this story (cause it might seem that way rip in pieces) but I have not!!! 
> 
> More from Tyler's POV this chapter! Thank you for reading!


End file.
